


A Blake Winter Tale

by ALittleWriting



Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALittleWriting/pseuds/ALittleWriting
Summary: I wanted to write a Christmas tale but couldn't quite get my head around Christmas in the summer, so here is a winter tale infused with some Christmas magic. Lucien has been gone a year and Jean is hosting a gathering of friends to celebrate him, but her heart is struggling. Three visitors appear to help Jean find love... and Lucien.





	A Blake Winter Tale

It was an unusually cold winter day in Ballarat. A screen of frost coated Jean’s attic window where she stood, staring into the clear, night sky. She reached out and traced the pattern of ice crystals with her finger. The cold seeped into her bones. But no matter. She hadn’t been truly warm in months. Something felt right about today being cold. Hearts bleed in the warmth, but if it’s cold enough, well, everything just stays right where it should be, no matter how deeply it’s been cut. A tear threatened to pour over the rim of her eye. She was weary of crying, and smacked at it to stop it.   
She lingered by the window a moment, looking at the icy whiteness. It would be an awful night to be out there alone. The stars were just beginning to come out. But she could already make out the Winter Triangle hanging low in the sky. One star shone brighter than the rest and for a moment she just stood there, her eyes held firm by it’s light while the rest of the world slept in darkness.  
“Enough Jean, there’s things to do,” she told herself.  
She blinked hard and turned sharply toward the door. But hesitated before stepping through. She had just changed into something clean for dinner after a day of cleaning and preparing and certainly didn’t need adornment, but she flipped open her jewelry box, anyway. Would tonight be the night she stopped putting it on? Tomorrow was the anniversary, after all. But her hands reached for her brooch before her head could make a different decision. Tonight would not be the night. But perhaps someday. Perhaps soon.  
She turned back to the window and found that brightest star in the dimming sky.  
“Wherever he his, and why-ever he’s there, just keep him safe, please,” she whispered, almost like a prayer, somewhat like a wish, on that one bright star.

 

“Are you sure you want everyone over?” Matthew said. The cold exaggerated his ever-present limp just a bit and she moved to pull a chair out for him as he made his way to the table. Being Matthew, though, he waved her away with annoyance, pulled it out himself and nearly fell as he fumbled into it.   
Jean raised an eyebrow at him to let him know that was his own fault.  
“I think people want to be here,” Jean said. “And I don’t mind.”  
“It would be alright if you did,” Matthew said while she handed him a plate.  
The truth was, Jean didn’t know what she wanted. But staying busy was easier than sitting and reflecting. She didn’t like where her thoughts went when she sat still and alone. A thought had been pricking her mind, like the touch of ice so cold it burns. A thought she didn’t want to give voice to. It might be nice to sit around with Mattie and Charlie and Matthew and Alice and just remember. They’d help her remember things as were, she was sure. She felt some days like she was forgetting something vitally important, about him, or maybe about them, like some first fiber of her love for him was unravelling, and she didn’t know how to mend it. Perhaps this would help.  
But she couldn’t very well say that and the silence grew long. Eventually, Matthew just covered her hand with his and smiled in that slightly awkward way of his when he meant to be reassuring.   
“Matthew,” Jean said, stepping away to fetch her own plate. “Do you think…” She bit her lip while turned away. She absolutely could not ask him this.   
“Think what? Your dinner looks delicious, as always. Lucien always was a tremendously lucky man in that regard. I mean… well until. Oh, I’m sorry.” The pain on his face was obvious when she turned back to the table. This was her fault for bringing round the conversation to something so awful. But now that she’d come this close, she found it nearly impossible to back away.  
“No, no, don’t be sorry. I know what you meant,” she said, reassuringly. She slipped into the chair opposite him. “But that’s my question. Was he? Do you think this, me, was ever what he wanted? Or was it just what he wanted for a time?”  
Now that she got the question out she found it difficult to swallow. She was using all her discipline to keep the tears firmly inside of her where she wanted them. Thank goodness for the chill.  
“Oh Jean, no. You can’t possibly think that.”  
“It’s been a year, Matthew. No sign of him. Don’t you think, maybe, he just…”  
Lucien had been pursuing someone up that bridge, for a private case. That’s when he was last seen and that’s all she knew. Everyone assumed he fell. Everyone assumed they’d lost him. Because Lucien would absolutely always come home. Wouldn’t he?  
“No, I don’t think maybe. I’ve wanted to wring his neck plenty of times. Good Lord I know the man wasn’t a saint, and I’ve wanted to find him just so I could knock him a good one and tell him exactly what I think of all this but no, no if he could get to you, he would.”  
Jean just looked down at her plate. She smiled quickly and said, “Of course, you’re right. It’s just been such a long time. Your mind plays tricks.”   
“Jean!” he said, sharply, making her raise her eyes back to his. “Jean, he loved you. He made mistakes, but not about that.”  
She nodded, gratefully, and felt his confidence in the moment. They ate the rest quietly, what they could anyway. When she got up to take their plates, finally, she saw that neither of them had much of an appetite tonight. No matter.   
“I think it’ll do us both good to have everyone by,” Matthew said, decisively.   
“Yes, I think you’re right,” Jean replied.  
They’d eat well tomorrow once everyone arrived. She returned to her room, turning in early. She often did these days, and looked out at the stars once again as she sat brushing her hair.   
People whispered at first. Where was he? Why hadn’t he returned? They looked at Jean first with questions, then with suspicion, and now just with pity. Two husbands lost. As though it was the same thing twice. Like she had a category for husband and had just misplaced that bit more than once. Maybe she couldn’t be trusted with one.  
But the second was nothing like the first. When she’d lost Christopher she’d felt still like a girl in so many ways. She’d gotten pregnant and married the boy next door, and lost him. And had to make a way for herself and her boys. Everything was a fight for survival. Every move one of duty. There’d hardly been time to mourn. There’d hardly been time or energy to really live when he was here. She was just always so worried about doing the right thing.  
And then, just as the grief was starting to settle in to stay. Just as she was starting to see herself as done, somewhat, with the adventure of life, in walked Lucien. And she absolutely wasn’t thinking of the husband category when she first saw him. She just…   
Smiled.   
And frowned, and yelled, and chided, and laughed. In short, she lived.   
But now, she didn’t feel like she was living anymore. She felt her heart closing over from the grief, and that was perhaps the most frightening piece of it. Because in her healing, she felt herself doubting, that she’d ever smiled that wide, or loved that deeply.   
“Am I forgetting?” She whispered aloud. “I don’t want to forget. He loved me, didn’t he?”  
It was almost like a prayer, something like a wish.   
And she climbed into her cold, narrow bed, and shut her eyes.

 

Morning came fast and the sun shone so strong in her room she squinted her eyes painfully against its brightness.   
That was odd for winter. She’d probably overslept, and with so much to do to prepare today. She opened her eyes quickly and scrambled to her feet.   
But it was still night. And the room was still dark.   
“What was that?” she asked herself. She peered out her window, looking for the light of a car or a torch. But there was nothing but the stars. Her eyes found the Winter Triangle once more and fixed onto the one, bright star that had seemed to take hold of her last night. Or was it just this same night? She supposed it was.   
She let her eyes fix on it again. It seemed to draw her in till she had no choice but to stand and stare. She knew she should go back to bed, but she just couldn’t stop looking. This was nonsense. What she needed was sleep and sense. She took a step back as the star seemed to swell and burn brighter still. Soon, it hurt her eyes. She backed further away but as she did, it seemed to follow her, growing until it overtook the moon, and then it filled her entire window. Jean backed away farther, dropping into the chair by her vanity. But the star didn’t stop. It kept coming, through the window, till it filled the room completely in a shock of bright, bold light.   
Jean covered her eyes as though squinting into the sun and had half a thought to run and get Lucien. No, Matthew. But just as she put a shaking hand to the chair to push herself up the light began to recede. It did not disappear, though. It took form and shape until a person, a person made of light, seemed to stand in front of her.  
“I must still be dreaming,” she assured herself. “I’ve not been myself.” But even as she said it she felt this wasn’t a dream at all. It felt deeply true. And the creature before her, shook her head -- somehow Jean knew it was a her -- tendrils of light fluttered around her featureless face as she did.   
“What are you?” Jean asked.  
But the star just held out her hand and beckoned Jean come.   
Come?  
It felt impossible to refuse.   
Jean stood and followed her to the window. It became apparent that they were somehow going through the window. Though of course it was too small, and of course it was too high.  
“No, no I can’t,” Jean said. Now she knew what this was – some elaborate trick of the mind that would have her dead by morning and everyone would tut about her suicide in the wake of her grief. The mind can be a terrible trickster.   
Jean began to back away but the star pointed up, as though to say they were going up, not down. Then it clutched her hand and star’s grip was so warm -- far warmer than Lucien’s even – that her fear just fell away.   
The star seemed to speak. Afterward, Jean would never be sure if she heard it, yet she knew it told her this.   
You asked a question, she said. Let’s go see.  
Jean jumped.   
And then she flew.

 

They passed over one street then the next, all familiar to Jean but never before seen at such a height. They seemed to be going downtown. And indeed they were. But as they descended the streetlights seemed to rush at Jean and blur till they landed, every so softly, her feet firmly on the hard ground and the world come back into focus.   
Or had it?  
Because she knew this place and yet she didn’t. Rather, she knew this place, but this hadn’t seen this time since she was a little girl. There were fewer cars and the ones she saw were long and low like in her girlhood. The buildings were fewer as well, and lower. It had to be thirty, maybe forty years ago. It was morning now, and not night. The sun shone high and bright and took the chill right out of her, but she clutched herself still. She turned to see if the star still shone in the day, and indeed it did. Its brightness was not dimmed by the sun. She could see now it wore some kind of gown that flowed as it moved. It seemed the most elegant creature Jean had ever seen and she felt inadequate next to it. But she couldn’t step away. The figure pointed and Jean turned to see a little girl crossing the street.  
A bicycle was coming straight for her.  
Oh, someone help her! Jean wanted to yell. She started toward her but the star held her back, gently, but immovably.   
Jean knew exactly how much it would hurt. That person was simply not looking where he was going and he would strike that little girl with the front wheel. She’d tumble and he’d fall and shout something awful at her while she scrambled to her feet, bleeding and terrified -- and worse yet, guilty. Because it must have been her fault. She should have been looking.  
And indeed it did play out just like that. Jean bit her lip as she winced. She tried to look away but somehow the star wouldn’t allow that. She witnessed the whole thing, this time, from the outside. She could plainly see it wasn’t her fault. It was the cyclist coming too fast and not watching. But she couldn’t tell young Jean that. She’d just have to relive it exactly as it happened.   
Why had the star shown her this of all things?  
A boy came running – older but not by much. Jean had forgotten this part. She must have been young, maybe five, when the accident happened and the boy had seemed so grown up in her memory but now as she looked at him he seemed no more than ten. He still wore short pants. His blonde hair was neatly combed, and his eyes were kind. All this she saw now, though at the time, and all she’d remembered, was fear. Now, her heart settled as the boy did what she could not, reach out to the girl crying on the street.   
“Hey there, it’s alright,” he said, kneeling down to where she lay. In her fear, the girl stopped crying and looked up at the boy with her deep set eyes, waiting to see what came next. “What’s your name?” He asked.   
This part Jean did remember. Because she’d wanted to answer but was too afraid to say anything.   
“You gotta watch where you’re going!” The man on the bike yelled from the other side of the street, picking himself up and grabbing his bent bike by the handlebars. “You know what this thing is going to cost me to fix?”  
“You’re the one who ought to watch where you’re going!” the boy yelled back. “She can’t be more than six years old!”  
Five, Jean wanted to say. I was five.  
“Where’s your mother!” the man yelled. Young Jean looked up at him, terrified. Her mother wasn’t far, across the street doing shopping. She’d let Jean run to the bakery for a treat. And she’d be furious that her dress was torn and stained with blood. She said nothing.  
“Yes, where’s your mother,” the boy said, but kindly. Young Jean just looked at her stained dress and skinned knees. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll get you fixed right up. It’s alright, my father’s a doctor.”  
Oh my.  
Jean no longer wanted to comfort her young self. She wanted to see him. She ran toward them now and the star let her pass.   
“Lucien? Lucien! Is that you!”  
What a beautiful boy. It’s all she could think. She reached out to touch his hair but her hand passed right through him. She wasn’t sure if it was herself that was not quite solid, or him.   
“Can you stand?” The boy – Lucien – very kindly helped her to her feet.   
He held out his hand, and young Jean took it. She rose, carefully, as the man on the bike wheeled it away still muttering insults. Lucien touched her jaw and turned her face toward his.   
“You look pretty banged up, but not broken. I think you’re going to be okay. But you’ll hurt for a bit.”   
So many times Jean had thought she’d give anything to have seen Lucien as a boy, when his mother was still alive, when his mother died, when his father had sent him away… she just wanted to be there to hold him and make him better.  
And here he was, holding her. And she’d had no idea.  
“Lucien,” she said, letting his name drop from her lips, knowing he couldn’t hear, but needing to say it anyway.  
“Jean!” It was her mother, tearing across the street. She’d been doing the shopping and allowed Jean to go buy a bun at the bakery. In her nice dress, which was now ruined. She’d longed to see her mother and also dreaded it in that moment.  
“Look what you’ve done!” She said, taking Jean’s hand from the boy’s, from Lucien’s.  
“It wasn’t her fault, ma’am. The bicycle ran straight into her.”  
“Well, you shouldn’t have let that happen, should you?” She said to Jean. It sounded worse than it had felt at the time. Of course, Jean shouldn’t have let it happen. She knew that. She was just glad for her mother to be there in the way that 5-year-old girls are. But Jean knew she’d never talk to a child that way. She knew that now.  
And so did Lucien. She saw his bright blue eyes narrow and felt his hand on her shoulder where he’d laid it so many years before. Though her mother was tugging her away, still tattered and bleeding, Lucien held firmly to her and spoke once again.   
“You were very brave,” he said. “This’ll hurt for a bit. Don’t let anyone tell you it should be all better. You’ve had a big fall and you’re very strong, but you can’t rush the healing. That’s what my father always says. Healing takes the time it takes.”  
“Thank you,” Jean’s mother said pointedly to him, before pulling Jean along behind her. But young Jean held his eyes as long as she could. And today, Jean saw the kindness that had first made her fall in love with Lucien. The man had such a capacity for caring. And here, he’d cared for Jean.  
The star stepped forward and took Jean’s hand again.  
“Can we just follow him a bit?” Jean asked. “Can we follow him home? I so want to see Thomas again, and Genevieve.”  
But the star shook her head and the lights already swirled about them as they lifted from the ground and flew back the way they came. Memories blurred for Jean, rushing past her like a wind through her mind. Thomas’s death. The fear of starting over – again. News that his son would be taking over. Nights spent in bed thinking to herself about what to say, how to act, how to make herself indispensable. She’d gotten comfortable with Thomas but she wouldn’t with Lucien. Dinner would be ready at 5:30 on the dot. The house would be spotless. She’d take nothing for granted.  
The word swirled through her mind, Lucien, Lucien, Lucien. She saw images of the Lucien she’d imagined. Severe, ordered, slight.   
And then the world came back into view. She stood outside her house, his house. A car door slammed and a tall figure in a suit climbed out the passenger side door. He placed a fedora on his head. Though she couldn’t see his face, it was so clearly Lucien that Jean’s heart leapt and she ran to him. The star did not stop her.   
“Lucien!” She couldn’t help but yell as she placed herself directly in his path.  
He cocked his head just a little, just enough that Jean thought maybe, somehow, he could hear her, or sense her.   
“Lucien, oh I’ve missed you so.”  
He looked just ever so slightly confused again, but simply leaned through the window to pay the cab driver and watched the car pull out of the drive with a bit of longing, like maybe he wished to go with it. Then he turned to survey the house. Jean stepped back a little. Let the man look, she thought. And look he did.   
He took it all in, that attic bedroom window, the front gardens, the window to the surgery, and his big expressive face grew more and more distraught. Finally, he clamped a hand over it entirely as one big sob escaped.   
“But it’ll all be alright, Lucien,” Jean said. “It’s a tough beginning, but you find your way. You’ll find family here, and a home. This is where you belong, Lucien.”   
He didn’t seem to hear her, but he did drop his hand, and square his shoulders, somehow emboldened. He strode to the door. Jean looked back toward the star, wondering if she were permitted to follow. She knew she stood just inside, and it wasn’t herself as a child, but just a few years back. Would it be okay? The star stood completely still, neither beckoning nor urging.   
So Jean followed, a few feet behind, almost reluctantly for as much as she wanted to be near Lucien, she did not want to see herself. Memories of who she was came flooding back. She didn’t want Lucien to meet that Jean, so scared herself. She wanted him to meet this Jean, the one who already loved him. Surely her past self would recognize how broken he was, surely he’d see love in her eyes somewhere.  
But no, she knew how this went. He pushed the door open without knocking – how presumptuous she’d thought – and hung his hat on the hook Thomas had used. She’d bristled.   
She met him in the hallway. Her hair had been so dark, hadn’t it, and pinned so severely. Did she think she could order her world through the use of hair pins? Her mouth was set and her chin raised.   
“Ah, you must be Dr. Blake,” she said.   
“Lucien,” he said. “Dr. Blake was my father.”  
“I’m well aware,” Jean said.   
The exchange continued and Jean cringed with every saucy word out of her younger self’s mouth. No wonder Lucien had been so difficult. She certainly hadn’t made it easy on him. And this was why she wondered about him now. This right here. Why had he ever wanted her? But even as she was about to turn back and slink off to the star and beg to be put back to bed. She felt its presence behind her, prodding her on. There would be no escaping this awkward scene.  
When finally Jean of the past showed him to his bedroom and stalked off down the hallway to the kitchen, presumably to make something Lucien wouldn’t take the time to eat, today’s Jean kept her eyes on Lucien and what she saw astounded her.   
It was a smile. A smirky little smile as she walked away. And he was absolutely checking her out. Jean looked at the star in astonishment and even the celestial being seemed amused.   
Perhaps Lucien had noticed her far sooner than Jean had thought.   
All too soon, the star grabbed Jean’s hand and the lights blurred again, and swirled, and Jean thought, “No, just let me stay with him, please. Even if he can’t see me, I can see him.” But this scene was already gone.  
In its place were snippets of memories, but one’s she’d never experienced. The star was showing her things she’d missed.  
Oh Mrs. Beazley’s a star!  
Jean is a great support to me.  
It’s what Jean would want…  
She saw a man placing a brooch in an envelope. She saw a sad man making scones. She saw his empty eyes when she walked upstairs without him, walked out the door flipping her collar, walked out of the surgery after a biting monologue.   
She saw that he missed her. Every time. When she’d felt invisible or ignored or simply unappreciated. And her heart felt like it might actually shatter. Was it better to know how deeply she’d been loved? Was it better to feel his pain as well as her own?  
This wasn’t helping. If this heavenly companion thought it was helping it wasn’t. She couldn’t live with this much love now that the object was gone. She couldn’t.   
Remember the love.   
She heard the words as clearly as though they’d been spoken, but she knew they hadn’t. She’d heard, instead something like the tinkling of bells. Something like the sound of starlight. But she knew what it meant.   
Remember the love.  
And then she was in her room again, filled with light, but gradually growing dimmer.  
“Wait, is that it? Are you leaving?”  
You asked a question. She felt it answer.   
I asked a question.  
Jean ran to her window and gazed up long enough to see the star receding until it was just another bright light in the Winter Triangle.   
“I asked you to take care of him!” she yelled into the sky. “Not me, him!”  
You asked to remember.  
Remember. Her heart had asked that question and now she did remember. She remembered how she felt the first time she caught him looking at her. She remembered the sense of satisfaction when she held the key to a case – which was honestly most of them. She remembered the joy of sitting around the table feeling like family. She remembered the relief when she saw him get on that bus and the peace of resting her head on his shoulder. She remembered the heat of his fingers on her shoulders and the way they seemed to be one person when he kissed her, always meant to find each other.   
And with the memories came the pain. It had really been the pain she’d been shielding herself from, hadn’t it? To lose all of that was worse than thinking maybe it had never been real. To lose all that was to lose everything. This was no second husband -- poor Jean has dealt with this before -- sort of loss. This was losing the part of herself she loved most.  
“I also asked you to take care of him,” she said, softly this time, looking up at the Winter Triangle, glowing like it always did, like it couldn’t possibly know anything about what she had or had not said.  
But she was not one to give up that easily. She’d stand here and wait, all night. She’d stand here and wish. Stand here and pray. And if it was just a dream, she’d wake standing and keeping watch, as one did.

 

Jean did not wake standing. She awoke sprawled across the floor and freezing. Her back ached and her head throbbed and she was forgetting something. A dream, perhaps? Did she dream of Lucien again?  
She pulled herself to standing. She rushed to the window. It was still night. The frost coated the windowpane in intricate crystalline patterns, and the stars shone throughout the moonless sky. But one star shone brighter than the rest. Jean remembered.  
“Are you her?” Jean said out loud, forgetting to feel stupid for talking to a star. “Are you her and can you take me to him?”   
Oh my. Was she talking to the night sky?  
Footsteps sounded in the hall. A soft knock at the door. “You alright, Jean?”  
“Er, yes, yes,” she said. She wrapped her pink robe around her pajamas and pulled the door open. Matthew looked very concerned, and he’d pulled himself up all those stairs in the middle of the night because she was screaming at a star. What was wrong with her?  
“Just a dream. I’ll be fine.”  
“Maybe some warm milk?” He asked, his face hopeful.   
“Yes, for both of us,” Jean said, ushering him downstairs. But as she walked out, she cast a look behind her at her window.   
Keep him safe, wherever he is.

 

She found herself in front of the stove making not just warm milk but hot chocolate while Matthew fetched something to put into his to help him sleep. His leg had been keeping him awake in this cold. He needed someone looking after him and she knew who that someone should be.   
He came shuffling in with a bottle as she poured the steaming drink into mugs.   
“Here you are, Matthew. Thank you for rescuing me tonight.”   
“Oh, well,” Matthew poured a healthy gulp of liquid into his chocolate while Jean held it. “I’m not sure how much rescuing you needed.”  
She smiled as he took the cup and peered over its edge at her as he took a sip.  
“You really do need to ask Alice out, you know.”  
She should have timed that better because he spat spiked chocolate all over both of them. At least this wasn’t her good robe.  
“Did I pour the whiskey in the wrong cup?” he asked.  
“Love is a beautiful thing,” Jane could feel tears filling her eyes. She fought them back. “Stop wasting time being an idiot.”  
“I, okay… I mean I’ve tried.”  
“Have you really? Have you done your best, Matthew?”  
“Well, probably not. I mean…”   
Jean leaned forward and patted his shoulder. “Just do your best, then,” she said, before retreating upstairs with her chocolate. Matthew would be happier drinking chocolate with Alice in the middle of the night than with Jean. Or not drinking chocolate with Alice in the middle of the night. Jean had her own memories surrounding such things and she didn’t doubt them anymore. They filled her with a kind of lightness.   
As her door creaked closed she looked up at the stars again.   
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you.”  
She strode to the window, feeling happier and warmer than she’d felt in months despite the cold. And her eyes found the Winter Triangle, those three bright stars hanging at the horizon. She thought one flashed at her, burned a little brighter, in response.   
And just like that, the warm glow she felt as she basked in the very present feeling of Lucien’s love burst like a balloon.  
Remember the loss.  
It sounded in her head as clearly as the last, but this was no tinkling of cheery bells. This was like the sounding of a drum, a low, dull thud that hurt her heard.   
Remember the loss.  
“I remember the loss every day. What’s this about?”  
But, again, she felt the burning prick of an unwelcome thought in the back of her mind. She’d doubted her love, hadn’t she, in part to numb the pain of the loss. And now she was being bid to feel it fully.  
“But I have, you see, I have every moment till just now! And, in fact, I actually asked to keep him safe, not for help feeling things” she said. “Are you even listening?”  
A tiny part of her thought she ought not to speak so abruptly to a celestial being but a larger part of her thought that it really ought to be doing more to bring Lucien home safely if it was within its power to do so and perhaps instead of whispering things to Jean it just needed reminding of its duty.  
The star, now shining larger and brighter than before twinkled a little extra as Jean stood there, staring it down.  
“Well?” Jean said.  
And its brightness grew. She took a step backward.   
Again, the brightness took shape and form until it was something almost human standing next to her. She couldn’t make out any specific features, but Jean definitely knew this was not the same star that visited her before. This one had a darkness about it. All that light, and yet this wasn’t a light that warmed, it was a light that seared.  
You’ve seen what you knew, and yet forgot. I will show you what you have not yet seen.  
No.  
All Jean thought, was no.  
And yet… if it would help Lucien. If it would bring her closer to Lucien. If it would even give her one more glimpse of Lucien… she took the star’s outstretched hand, as it glittered darkly, and once again, she flew.   
The night sky became one fast blur of light and wind and memories  
She stood in the hallway with Lucien.   
“How long will you be?” She had tried to keep the concern out of her voice. She’d wanted to seem as brave as he was.  
“Oh, Jean I can’t possibly know, but not long.” He’d been rushed. Grabbing his hat and speaking without looking at her. Already moving toward the car. She’d walked after him and hesitated at the door. She watched herself wait, her brows knit together, not doing the one thing she wanted. But then, she did. Oh thank God, she did.  
She ran toward the car just as he was turning back round. She saw his face soften in an instant. He was no longer the man who ignored her when his mind became consumed by a case. That was the old Lucien. He trotted back toward her and wrapped her in the warmest, strongest embrace.   
“I promise I’ll be back. Soon, Jean. I know right where they’ll be and then I’ll back. In time for that dreadful…eh, lively show you wanted to see.”  
“It’s a happy musical, what’s dreadful about that?”   
“Yes, well, opening night’s on Friday and I’ll be back. You can count on me,” he said, pulling back to make eye contact with those searing blue eyes of his. His face serious and soft. She put a hand on his cheek and he leaned in to kiss her, really kiss her. This she remembered. She’d played this kiss over and over. It wasn’t a tremendous kiss, just an ordinary Lucien kiss. And that in and of itself was remarkable. It was one of his greatest talents and solely reserved for her.   
She thanked the Lord every day she’d allowed herself to enjoy it and not pulled away in a hurry to reprimand him further. She just felt it. And she said, “Go then, and be quick about it. And when you come back you are absolutely seeing The Music Man with me.”   
He groaned, in fake annoyance, he actually loved musicals. And then smiled his little smile as he held up a hand in farewell. He got into that car of his, and before he reversed out of the drive the memory swirled and faded.   
Remember the Love the last star had said. She remembered. She did.  
Her feet lifted up and the sky darkened as she followed his car. They flew above him at super speeds. She could just make out the blur of his rooftop on the open road below as they sped along and memories that were not hers flooded her mind. Hard voices spoke furtively.  
They’re headed to Sydney. If I wait for you I’ll lose them. I’ve done this countless times before.   
As the blurred lights began to crystalize Jean recognized the lights of the harbor bridge.  
“No,” she said as the star took her down through the deep night sky. “No, I didn’t ask to see this.”  
He’d be traversing over the arch like a madman who thought he was invincible. Or chasing someone along the edge. He’d climb over as they tried to escape and lose his balance. He’d get pulled over with some criminal. She’d played every image in her head. Seen him it the water, seen him hit the concrete. Over and over and over. She’d seen him die so many times, so many ways. She couldn’t actually see it for real.   
“I can’t!” She yelled at the creature next to her. “I can’t! You don’t understand.” She turned to it’s darkly bright face, searching for some kind of understanding, some sort of empathy. But she, once again she was certain this was a female somehow, continued her descent with Jean firmly in her grasp. The night air blew Jean’s hair away from her face. It rattled in her ears. She felt the chill go through her despite the warmth from the star’s grasp. Nothing could quell the cold of what she was about to see.  
They touched down at the end of the bridge. She’d been expecting to hover somewhere about its middle, under the highest part of the arch. That’s where she always envisioned it. But she supposed the entire length of it was deadly. She glanced around, they weren’t even actually on the bridge, just at the point where cars and busses passed through checkpoints that could be closed in the event of its opening. Was that it? Had the bridge opened while Lucien was inching along it? She’d pictured that as well.   
The bridge was enormous, a marvel of modern engineering. It was eight lanes wide and each had a booth one must pass and a sign above indicating whether the lane was open to cars or busses or closed entirely. Above them stood a clock with large light-up letters underneath that read “Time to Think. Count the cost – Safety is Priceless.”  
A sob caught in Jean’s throat. How much was she to endure, truly?  
She turned to bury her face in the bright light of the fallen star and found she could not. Her head would not turn. It was as though she were watching a movie and was fated to see every frame. Her body was not her own.   
A car rumbled past. She recognized it. Lucien’s. It was the dead of night, now. He turned the car sideways across one of the lanes. What was he thinking? That he’d stop whoever this was with his bare hands?  
He got out. Yes, that was exactly what he was going to do. Reason with the bloody killers. Now she wouldn’t have looked away if she could. His jaw was set in that firm way of his. His sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His eyes narrowed, searching.   
And then he saw it, and so did Jean. Headlights of an approaching car. It pulled right up to Lucien and someone got out and slammed a door.   
“It’s over,” Lucien said.  
“Like bloody hell,” the other man said.  
“Lucien let him go! Just get in your car and go!” Jean shouted, though she knew it would do no good.   
“Just come with me. It’ll be alright,” Lucien said, foolishly.  
The other man pulled out a gun.  
“I can’t see this!” Jean yelled.  
Lucien put up his hands.  
“Jean wouldn’t want this,” Lucien said.  
No Jean bloody well wouldn’t, but what did he mean by that? Why would he say that to this criminal?  
“Get in the car!” the other man shouted.  
“Yes!” Jean yelled, “Get in your car and go. Go home! Just go home!” She’d have thrown herself in front of his chest if she could. But she was somehow rooted to the spot by the same magic that brought her here.   
Lucien took a step toward his car.  
“Not that car,” the man growled.  
“Right,” Lucien said in that calm way he had when he was actually scared out of his mind but trying to keep everyone else calm around him. He eased toward the man with the gun who waved Lucien toward the car. The man had his back to Jean. She couldn’t see his face, but there was something faintly familiar about his voice. He backed toward his car, keeping his gun trained on Lucien the entire time. They left Lucien’s car right there, blocking the lane, right where the police had found it. This was why they said he was last seen on the bridge? This car?  
But Lucien left the bridge. She watched the car reverse and head back toward the docks.   
Lucien left the bridge. Alive.  
Jean turned to the star. It’s dark glow no longer seemed menacing but magical. Hopeful. Beautiful in the dangerous way that nature had, a rapid river on a stormy day, a full moon against a night sky.   
“Is he alive?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even as Lucien had earlier. “Tell me, is he alive?”  
The star turned to face her now and Jean almost saw eyes in its fiery face. Did she? Before she could be certain her feet left the ground again and the lights swirled around her.   
Stay here! Don’t move. I said be quiet.   
She heard a gun smack someone on the head. She heard moans of pain. She saw blood on a wooden floor, broken glass, grass. So much dead grass. Where were they? Her feet touched down on a gravel road. She turned to the star but got nothing. It just stared straight ahead. Jean followed its gaze and saw a disused shed ahead. Would she be stuck as last time? She tried taking a step and found she could move. She stopped looking to the star for permission and ran. Rocks flew up behind her feet and stung her legs. Was she really here? She flung herself at the door and yanked it open. It yielded before her.  
There he was, tied to a chair that had fallen over. Was he conscious?  
“Lucien!” She ran to him. She cradled his face, but she couldn’t move him, couldn’t lift him, couldn’t feel a pulse.  
“Lucien!” She screamed, frantic. “Lucien!”  
His eyes fluttered. “Jean,” he whispered. “I know I promised. Jean, I tried. I tried so hard to come home.” She somehow understood that this was much later. Perhaps this was even happening now.   
“Lucien,” she sobbed his name as she tried to cradle his face. But her fingers slipped right through. Whatever permanence she’d had in this time and place was slipping. “I’ll get help, Lucien. I’ll get help. I promise. I’ll get you home.  
She got up and ran for the star. This time she found she could run straight through the shed door and by the gravel felt like nothing as she sped down the lane toward the light that had brought her here.  
“He’s there!” Jean yelled, breathless. “He’s just there. We have to do something. You can revive him? Can’t you? Or bring help? What can you do? Oh, he’s just in there!”  
The star stood, motionless.   
“He’s in there!” Jean turned to run back to Lucien, but found she could not. Her feet couldn’t make contact with the ground anymore. The star grasped her hand, and she was gone. Everything around her dimmed, like a bright light had gone out.   
She stood in her attic bedroom. Surrounded by fading light.  
“No, no! Don’t leave me. Don’t leave him! No!” She tried to pound it with her fists, but it was like trying to grasp water with your hands. There was simply nothing there.  
And the light receded. It slipped back into the night sky. It pulsed once, twice, and then it was just a star in the Winter Triangle. Like any other.  
Remember the Loss. It echoed in her brain.   
The loss felt like a gaping wound she couldn’t endure. She hadn’t known till she lost Lucien that you could feel heartbreak like a physical pain. When she’d lost Christopher, she felt it in her gut. What would she do? How would she survive and raise the boys? The questions had twisted her stomach. But with Lucien it felt like a splitting open of her chest when she thought about it specifically and a dull ache, always present, when she didn’t.   
The grief nearly consumed her now.  
He hadn’t jumped. He hadn’t fallen. He’d been taken. And he was trying to get home. To her.   
Oh, Lucien.  
Jean stood and waited, shaking, in her bedroom. She ran to the window and gripped the sill with her hands. The Winter Triangle hung there in the night sky, burning brightly as it did night after night. She stood in rapt apprehension, waiting for what came next.  
But nothing did.  
“There’s a third star,” she said, almost like a reproach of heaven. “Lucien is out there and there’s a third star!”  
But they just twinkled, as always, remote and cold.  
Jean hit the window with her fist, hard enough to bruise and she yelled, “There’s a third star!”  
The night wore on.  
Jean threw on a robe and ran downstairs, she flung the front door open her eyes on the sky as she flew down the steps.   
“Where is he?!” she yelled.  
“Jean?”  
It was Matthew, wrapped in a blue robe over plaid pajamas and looking utterly confused and a little bit annoyed. “Jean what in heaven’s name are you doing out here?”  
“Matthew, they know where he is. He’s alive and they won’t tell me.”  
She saw his face transform, to one of calm concern. Oh no, no she was not crazy. She’d seen. She knew. But how could she tell him. Matthew stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms as she yelled and then cried. He kept saying, “You’ve had a bad dream, again, that’s all. Let’s go inside.”  
“No, Matthew…” she wanted to tell him it hadn’t been a dream. It had been so real, but it sounded ludicrous. And what was she to do out here in the middle of the night? She let him lead her inside. If she could just think a moment, she’d figure out what to do. She let him guide her upstairs, promised to sleep. She had no intention of sleeping. She’d try to remember where they’d gone after the bridge, what direction they’d taken. Surely, she could figure out where Lucien was.  
She woke, slumped over her vanity, paper a pencil still in her hand and half-drawn maps covering the surface beneath her cheek. She brushed the sleep from her face. Sunlight streamed through the window and the stars had disappeared into its brightness.   
But the maps, she’d nearly got it, hadn’t she? But in the light of day they looked like children’s scribbles. She had no idea where the shed was that she’d seen. Could it have been a dream?  
Remember the love.  
Remember the loss.  
How could she forget? It pierced her heart with every beat. She recalled Lucien’s warm eyes as a boy. His smirk when he looked at her as she walked away. His thrill when she came up with the key to his latest case. The warmth of his hands as he pulled her close. She remembered. She’d always remember.   
“Jean, ah, just checking on you?” Matthew’s voice accompanied a soft rap on the door.  
“Yes, just collecting myself. I’ll be right down,” she said.   
She held a hand to her chest. She took a deep breath. It had been a dream, hadn’t it?

 

“Mattie!” Jean held her arms wide as Mattie hurried from the car. Charlie followed from a distance with her bags. He still dissolved a bit when Mattie was around, Jean noted.   
Mattie hung on tightly to Jean. It was a more effusive greeting than Jean would have given her in the past, despite how very much she loved her. She’d always tended to keep her heart on the inside even with those so very dear to her. But, she was well aware who would have given Mattie the grand greeting and how very much his absence was felt at moments like this. It felt like honoring him to give a little more.   
Remember the love. Not just her love for him, but his love for everyone. She would. She’d remember it every day in the way she looked at the faces of the people she cared about. And she cared for Mattie so very much.  
“Tell us all about London,” she said as she ushered Mattie into the house.  
“Oh, Jean. It’s been everything he said it would.” Her voice caught. Her hand flew to her face that crumpled in an instant.  
“It’s alright Mattie. I want you to remember him. It’s why we’re all here today.”  
Charlie stumbled through the door with the bags held awkwardly at his sides.   
“Why don’t you take them to her old room.”  
“Isn’t…”  
“He’s moved.” Jean said, with a forward thrust of her chin.  
“Well, do what she said,” Mattie said ushering Charlie forward.  
Matthew had understood that for Mattie to stay in Lucien’s old room would be a challenge. He moved in for the time being. He said he was best suited to it. Jean wasn’t sure he was as strong as he pretended to be but the pretending was good for both of them so she allowed the gesture.   
It was good to see old friends. Family, really. Matthew was right about that.   
Alice joined them and the evening was all she hoped it would be. They all told stories about Lucien. Alice’s were slightly awkward but endearing. Matthew’s were disparaging but in such a caring way. Charlie’s were tinged with frustration and awe. Jean hadn’t known some of the avenues they’d traveled together. What Lucien had blamed Charlie for and to what lengths Charlie had gone to protect him. He’d always felt like another son and tonight, well, she couldn’t possibly love him more.  
Mattie spoke of Lucien like he was her father, with the same affection, the same chiding. It was truly a beautiful night and one that wouldn’t have existed without Lucien’s enormous personality to have drawn them all together like this.   
But something inside Jean shifted as the light dimmed. She looked at the smiling faces around the table, took in the laughter and the love, but part of Jean was no longer here. The stars would be coming out now. And one persistent thought kept resounding through her mind.   
There is a third star.  
It had been a dream, she knew, brought on by this anniversary and her wishes and prayers. It must have been a dream. But why couldn’t she dismiss the thought.   
The Winter Triangle has three stars. And they’d be out now.  
“Don’t you think, Jean?”  
“I’m sorry?” Jean turned to Alice’s expectant face.  
“Don’t you think a little whiskey would be in order?”  
“Oh my, yes. No… I’m sorry.” Jean put her hand to her face.   
“No, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless.”  
“It most certainly was not,” Jean said. She stood. She was making a mess of things. She didn’t want to be morbid or macabre but she felt herself faltering.  
“Why don’t we all pour a glass,” Jean forced a smile.  
She could just step outside. She could just look at the stars, couldn’t she? She might be able to focus if she just assured herself they were only that, twinkling lights in the twilight sky.  
“I’ll get them,” Charlie said.   
Mattie put a hand on Jean’s back and Jean leaned toward the dear girl. She couldn’t have asked for a better daughter. She ought to tell Mattie that. She ought to tell her soon. But first. Just a peek outside.  
“Jean,” Matthew held out a glass to her.   
And in that moment Jean knew she couldn’t possibly take it because she would need all of her wits about her.  
“I can’t,” she said.  
“Of course,” Alice said.  
“No, no it’s not…” Jean pushed her chair back and stumbled a bit. She dropped her napkin on the table. “Would you all just excuse me a moment.”  
It was all she could do not to run to the front door. She ripped her bag from the hook and snatched a coat as she did break into a jog finally.  
“Jean!” Charlie called.  
“Give her time!” Matthew bellowed.  
She threw herself outside. Yes, the stars were out. Yes, they gleamed.   
“Well then?” she said.   
The third star flashed.  
“I knew it! Well come on then, let’s go!”  
But it did not grow brighter. It did not descend. It just hovered there in the triangle. Waiting.  
Why did Jean think it was waiting? Waiting for what?  
“Jean?” It was Mattie’s questioning voice, tiptoeing toward her.   
“Just a minute,” Jean waved Mattie off, staring at the dusky sky. Why didn’t it move? She ran toward it, down the drive. And then, was that what she thought? Did it move?  
“Jean!” Charlie was by her side, his hand on her elbow.   
“Give her a bit of space, will you?” Matthew shouted from the door.  
“Thank you, Matthew,” she called. But she didn’t have time to turn and look because she was confident the star had moved, moved forward. It wasn’t coming toward her like the other two had. It wanted her to come to it. “I’m, I’m so sorry,” she said, turning back toward the crowd gathered at the door. Matthew looked furrowed as usual. Charlie looked concerned. Mattie looked sad. Alice had her hand to her mouth. They’d just have to wait. She pulled at the car door and jumped in.  
“Where are you going?” Charlie ran toward her but Jean didn’t take her eyes from the star. It definitely moved.  
“I said to give her a minute.”  
“To do what, exactly?”   
Their voices faded as she pulled out.   
“I’m coming,” she said.  
She drove on, down the drive, past downtown, onto the highway. And as she did the star burned brighter and led the way. All the grief and doubt and confusion of the past days melted away. All she felt was resolve, as clear and direct as starlight.  
The farther she got from home, the clearer her mission became. It was just she and the star, one leading, one following, and Lucien at the end. She recalled the vision from last night, the way the streets curved and the length of gravel road. She thought about the shed till was sure she’d recognize it on sight.   
But she also knew she needn’t do that. The star kept moving faithfully forward and she somehow had no doubt which turns to take. It was like she felt her way there as much as she followed.   
It must have been hours that she drove because by the time gravel crunched under her tires the sun had been fully extinguished and the stars were bright and clear, only a hint of a moon to dim their glow.   
This was it. This was the gravel path she’d seen with the second star. She threw the car in park before she’d fully braked and lurched forward. She wanted to tear the door open and propel herself down the path but she didn’t know if she was alone. Just because he’d been alone in her vision last night didn’t mean he remained so.  
Tires crunched on gravel. She turned to see headlights shining directly on her car. She looked for a weapon of some sort, something to crack over the head of whomever was coming, but as she peered through the window she saw Charlie’s silhouette.   
He looked visibly upset as he gestured for her to open the door. She did not have time to deal with this. She did open the door, but set off immediately down the gravel path.   
“He’s in there,” she said.  
“Who? Jean, what on Earth are you doing?!”  
But Jean only moved toward the shed, quickly but carefully. Charlie withdrew his gun and provided backup as he was trained to do. Good man.  
When they reached the door he insisted he go through it first. He held her back with his arm and pushed the door open, gun first. But Jean knew what she’d find and she didn’t wait for him to sound an all-clear. At the sight of the blonde hair on the floor she dove forward.  
This time she could grasp Lucien’s face. This time she could feel his warm skin beneath her own.  
“Lucien! Can you hear me? Lucien!”  
“Doc!” Charlie yelled, holstering his gun and dropping to his knees beside Jean.  
“Jean, is it really you? I keep seeing you and you’re not there. Is it…”  
“It’s me,” she said. “I’m here. Now you be still.”  
He was tied to a chair that had toppled over. His wrists bled where they were tied with rough rope and his lips were so chapped they bled at the cracks.  
“I’ve got these,” Charlie said, working on the bonds as the shed door flew open again.   
Jean’s heart dropped to her gut. At least we’d be together. She thought. But fear didn’t have time to take root. Before she could fully feel it Matthew’s scowling face appeared with Alice and Mattie crowding behind.   
“What are you… oh, Lucien.” Matthew came alongside and helped Charlie to free him from the chair.   
“Don’t move him!” Mattie yelled as she and Alice pushed forward. Mattie felt his pulse while Alice felt along his spine.  
“I am perfectly fine,” Lucien croaked. “Just a bit hungry.” He tried to pull himself to standing but his legs wouldn’t support him. He fell against the rotted floor with a crash.  
“Get him in the car,” Alice commanded.  
Jean had his face in her hands again, smoothing his hair. She leaned her forehead against his.   
“I’ve been trying so hard to get to you, Jean.”  
“Shh…” she said.   
“I wasn’t afraid of dying. Just…” he pushed himself up from the floor, slowly. “Just that you’d think I hadn’t tried.”  
“Stop that,” she said. Tears streaming against her will. “Stop that right now. I know how much you love me.” She looked into his half-open eyes. “I saw. Lucien, I saw you.”  
“You always did,” he said, closing his eyes and smiling.  
He started to falter but Charlie and Matthew were there, grabbing hold of each arm.   
They hauled him up and half-carried, half-dragged him to the car, his car. Soon, they had him safely tucked in the back seat. Charlie took the wheel so Jean could ride in the back with him. Matthew drove the squad car with Mattie and Alice. They all headed straight for the hospital.   
There would be questions and stories and investigations. There would be vital signs and IV fluids and warm blankets. But for now, there was just her hand on his face, and a smile on her face as the car drove under the twinkling stars of the night sky.   
She looked up at them and said “Thank you.” Kind of like a wish. Kind of like a prayer.  
“Ah, you’re welcome,” Lucien said, with a smile.   
Jean laughed as she bent her lips to his forehead.   
“Perhaps next time…”  
“Next time I leave the case to you. You seem far more capable.”  
“I do, don’t I,” she said. She’d had a little help. But she’d tell him that another time. For now, she would be in this moment, with the people who mattered most, with her heart fully open.


End file.
